"I could describe curling
up in the fetal position and sobbing hysterically, and having to
get up and change bed sheets soaked with tears. ...I [could] talk
about my personal experiences, about being sodomized and molested,
and the effect it's had on my life. But honestly, my pain is just
garden-variety sexual terror. . ."

David Clohessy '78, is no stranger to pain. He lives
at a confluence of misplaced trust that began as a child when he
was sexually abused by his parish priest. Now estranged from his
brother, pitted against the very church he loves, and adjusting
to life without employment, David is making peace with a past that
haunts him and hundreds of other victims, "working to rid their
bodies and the body of the church of this terrible infection."

Clohessy's quiet passion is making him one of the most credible
spokesmen for victims of abuse. Thrust into the spotlight with the
recent scandals rocking the Catholic church, David's celebrity status
comes because he leads a group called SNAP (Survivors Network of
those Abused by Priests). He's been featured in well-known publications
like Newsweek and The New York Times. He has been on CNN, ABC, NBC,
CBS and even Oprah! Clohessy's pathway to fame is not one that many
of us would have chosen, but he uses it to champion the cause of
eliminating abuse at the hands of priests and other Catholic church
leaders. "Through SNAP," he says, "we've heard hundreds
of stories. Stories that have made Catholics weep, that would leave
you feeling nauseous."

I met David in June at the home of an abuse survivor in St. Louis.
It was an experience that will stay with me for a long time. I was
somewhat familiar with David from reading about him in newspaper
articles, magazine stories and Internet sites. I recognized his
face. I'd heard his voice while watching broadcasts of his presentations
at the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops. He looks just like his
photographs; his voice sounds the same. But I wasn't prepared for
the strength he emanates.

David was raised in the quiet mid-Missouri town of Moberly in a
large, active, church-going family. It was in the bounds of this
church, however, that David and at least two of his brothers report
they experienced ultimately devastating abuse at the hands of The
Rev. John Whiteley. Some 20 years later, David became the first
Missourian to sue a cleric for childhood sexual abuse. His lawsuit
against the Jefferson City Diocese was dismissed because it fell
outside the statute of limitations, but Whiteley resigned from the
ministry because of the accusations against him.

That was the first time Clohessy saw his power to create change.
He is still a change agent today. "The greatest honor you could
offer [abused men and women] might also be the hardest one - to
radically change your behavior," he challenged the bishops.
He went on to describe changes that could help: lobbying for effective
enforcement of laws, teaching children to protect themselves and
having a "Jesus-like attitude" for those who have survived
abuse.

Abuse is not the only tragic thread woven through Clohessy's life.
David's brother, Kevin, also suffered abused by Father Whiteley.
But Kevin chose a different route - he embraced the church and entered
the priesthood. Unfortunately, within the priesthood Kevin's reaction
to his own abuse found an outlet and he became numbered among those
priests who were identified as having "credible accusations"
of sexual abuse. Tied together by blood and shared pain, the brothers
barely speak. Upon learning that the accusations against his brother
would be published, David made a difficult telephone call alerting
Kevin. David has been told that Kevin is receiving treatment. Just
as David built healthy relationships with his wife and family, he
remains hopeful of healing the bonds to his brother.

In the midst of this year's turmoil and scandal within the Catholic
Church, and an increase in Clohessy's efforts to bring reform, he
learned that his position as community services director in a financially-strapped
school district was eliminated. Seemingly undisturbed by this turn
of events, David hopes his work with SNAP will become a paid, part-time
position. "If not," he says, "something else will
turn up." I'm impressed, again, by his inner strength and intact
faith, despite his break with religion.

That faith taps into a well of emotion that powers his life. I watched
him weep as he described the abuse and its devastating effects on
his friends and acquaintances. I watched him play with his two sons
and laugh with deep joy, his chest swelling with pride as he introduced
Spencer, eight, and Brian, six. I don't know if the boys know about
or understand the work their dad does, but the love between them is
obvious.

David Clohessy is an impressive man, an extraordinary man. With
grace and poise, he carries a weight that many of us would find
unbearable, and yet, he has emerged stronger because of it. That
resoluteness is surely a source of confidence and hope to those
whom David helps. For now, he works to make a difference in the
shattered lives of abuse victims. "Hold out for real change,"
he says. "Real change is what your children deserve. Real change
will keep them safe. Don't turn away. Don't settle for less."